Selene’s Tuesday afternoon odd encounter(Selene)

Date: 2026-05-12 13:56

(Selene’s Tuesday afternoon odd encounter(Selene):Selene)

[Tue May 12 2026]

In Shorelight Cafe /span
Edison bulbs hang from exposed beams, casting warm light
over reclaimed wood tables and mismatched chairs. The bar
counter runs along the southern wall, its surface worn
smooth, backed by shelves of ceramic mugs and a chalkboard
menu. Large windows face the ocean, salt light pouring in by
day. The air smells of roasted coffee and something baking,
and the hiss of the espresso draws forth from behind the
bar. /span

It is about 60F(15C) degrees. The mist is heaviest At Birch and Blackstone/span

Yukino is just attending the bar, moving a tray to one of the customers at the Shorelight with their orders. She smiles and does so with both of her hands.

(Your target discovers they’ve been marked by a death curse – they have until midnight to find and confront the hedge witch who cast it, navigating through her supernatural protections and either convincing her to lift it or defeating her in a battle of wills.)

There’s some expected bustle of patronage at this hour of the day, with customers filtering into the cafe for a round of coffee, tea, if not a bite to eat. Most of these people probably aren’t that interesting, from some local businessmen gathering for an after-meeting coffee talk to a few fishermen talking about the daily catch, a trio of old ladies knitting over a cuppa, or a few students catching up on high-school style gossip.

A perfectly peaceful day; idyllic, almost, for some. But then again, this is New Haven, a town where trouble is often just a few steps, and one unfortunate turn around a corner, away. Out of nowhere, while Yukino is just doing her thing, a sudden sting is felt. Deep and sharp it hits, a pain that would likely temporarily incapacitate or cripple a non-Super. Like an invisible hand has slipped into her chest, found her heart, and is holding it in a vice-grip.

Yukino freezes, glances around a hand reaching along her right hip as if wanting to place somewhere and finding only her skin. Her hands settles there, and she exhales a sigh.

Quick and sudden the pain came, but quick and sudden also describes its ‘presence’ fading. Once that grip over her heart is gone, what it is becomes quite apparent, especially to someone a bit savvy in the occult. The way your eyes feel hazier, the way this grip felt way too tangible, and some voice in the back of the head are all telling the same thing: ‘This is probably a hex, a ritual, a curse’. A very common tactic in the supernatural world.

As another pulse of pain starts to swell up, and with it the lass’ vision gets muddier and darker, the people around her still look unalerted. But there is something that is registered, just before the next wave of discomfort becomes too overwhelming, and that is the sound of… those knitting needles. They become remarkably loud to you, for but a few seconds, each time they click against one another resounding in the back of your head like a wardrum so loud, so reverberant.

Yukino stares at nothing at all, just blank ahead when her vision grows muddier and darker. She takes a deep breathe in through her nose and more by instinct than decision, does her hand move to the little buttons at the communicator around her wrist. “One might not be feeling so well.” She says out loud, trying to draw the attention of her colleagues. Of course, all while asking for the employed security operatives to come, over-caution winning over testing any waters or daring to try withdraw on her lone.

That blank wall, that black spot, practically becomes her entire world for a while. Her surroundings are gone, Yukino is now in the middle of a void. An empty, cold, hollow space of nothing but blackness. There is, occasionally, a faint sound that comes from some of the customers, like hearing the clanking of a spoon against a mug, but they are a rare reminder that the real world is still out there. Thankfully, while the pain swells up, and that hex works its twisted magic on her, her body is remarkably intact. Sure, discomfort will make some movements laboured, but no muscles have frozen stiff, no joints have locked up.

This turns out remarkably helpful, with the woman managing to alert her well-trained operatives even if, to her, it could feel like they’d have to cross through galaxies to find her in this void. One steps up just in time for the next session of trouble; Again, a crippling wave of pain is felt, this time targeting not the heart but the skull, the brain, the ears. It becomes hard to measure exactly where the pain’s origin point lies in the body, but it’s certainly somewhere above the neck. It hits hard enough to topple just about anyone, but luckily for Yukino, one of her bodyguards is there to hold onto her shoulder. Prevent her from direct collapse. Serve as a link between the real, physical world, and whatever emptiness she resides in. And right as the pain hit, that same sound was heard again, somewhere in a dark, forgotten corner in the back of her head. The metallic clicking. The faint scrape of metal-on-metal. And a rattly, crackly cackle.

“M….”
“… ss?..”
“.. el..?”

“Miss?!” That voice. Familiar. You know who it is. Suddenly, you see again. The pain fades. The room is.. normal. At least for now.

Your vision will take a while to regain full focus. But you know where you are. You know that, besides you, stands one of your reliable bodyguards. They look alerted, too, on the verge of causing a public scene, or clearing the room to escort you away. “Miss? What.. is wrong?” A pause, as the other calls over, “.. has she drank anything?”

By now, the people in the cafe will obviously be alerted, too. Curious eyes, unspoken questions, and lots of visible, tangible concern.

“One might say it would be best to deliver her to the people and inform of a hex.” Yukino tries to say, carefully, slow. Her breathing grows controlled in the way she might be familiar with. She still holds still, and at the least, being small and light will make it at least less difficult to transport her along. The people, of course, to her affiliation. “One might not desire to cause a scene.” Of course, there is always more.

Someone in the room with you wants to see you suffer. You don’t know this directly, of course, as an Angel’s desire sensitivity isn’t some app or line of code you can check for prompts, requests, or entires. But that desire is there, in the room, powerful. Whoever it is wants you to be hurting. Even worse, they want you dead, and are relishing in seeing you plummet towards such a fate.

The words that leave the Asian lady come out quietly, far quieter than she probably would have expected. Every word uttered loses a bit of vibrance, a bit of resonance, until you’re practically producing little more than a breath worth of a whisper. Here, it helps again that one of her reliable side-kicks has moved up to her side, the only able to hear everything. And he is able to convey that last request of hers to the other bodyguard, relying on a simple nod, hand-gesture, or other practice signal to do so.

You hear how the situation is getting defused already, or at least you think you know this is happening. Because, again, that blanket of cold, of darkness, of emptiness creeps back in, drawing over your vision like the curtains of a stage that will never welcome a play on its elevated podium ever again.

This time, as the black consumes your world, and that crippling pain returns, targeted on your throat this time, the void is not empty. Something is there, producing tremors, or sounds, or could it even be moving?

In reality, only ten or so seconds will pass, but the mind will feel like it is wandering this emptiness for many tiring minutes. Until you think you’ve found what it is. You hear..

*Tik…*@line
38*…. tok.*